Just For Tonight
by Sweet Lunacy
Summary: Jenny isn't coping. At all. So to distract herself, she seeks out a certain silver-haired former marine. Back-in-the-day Jibbs. Shattered/UTK universe. One-shot.


**A/N: Fear not, "Shattered" will be updated on Saturday. I haven't forgotten it. This takes place in the same universe as "Shattered", "Under the Knife" and "Brave Enough". In which Jenny and Gibbs spend a Saturday night outside of the office. Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

The bite of the blade silenced the noise in her head. That was the entire reason she'd started in the first place. Or...at least, she _thought_ it was. Honestly, she wasn't sure anymore. It had been so long since she'd first began that now she couldn't remember a time when she hadn't felt an immediate sense of calm at the sight of her own blood. Still, even Jenny had to admit that the situation was dangerously close to spiraling out of control.

Even the slightest inconvenience sent her running to the nearest bathroom or abandoned corner where she could slice into her own skin without fear of being caught. She'd been struggling with having her secret found out by Gibbs and Burley, and it was enough to make her reach for her purse next to her couch, and she frowned as she searched through the small bag. She knew that she always kept a knife and medicinal supplies on her at all times, and she couldn't understand why she hadn't found them yet.

Just as she was about to scream, cry, or shoot something, her fingers closed around cool metal and she sighed as she pulled out the knife. She tried to simply ignore the voice in her head screaming at her, telling her that she was being stupid, that she was weak, pathetic, and a complete disappointment to everyone, but her mind was having none of it.

To anyone who passed her on the street or worked with her, Jenny Shepard was a confident and strong young woman, poised to go far in the world. In her head, she was anything but. She knew that she was good at her job, and was (mostly) confident in her ability to work well on Gibbs' team, but still...sometimes she wondered. What if she was good, but not good enough to accomplish everything she had planned? What if she messed up even the simplest of tasks and lost her job?

Flipping open the knife, Jenny stared at her reflection in the shiny blade, and frowned. When had she gotten so pale? She pulled up her sleeve, looking for an empty place to begin. Scars, old and new, covered her porcelain skin, and as she looked at her arm, Jenny felt suddenly afraid. Somehow, she knew, if she started tonight, she wouldn't be able to stop.

She'd never felt this desperate before, and she stood on shaky legs to grab her phone off the table and as she dialed the number, she tried to control her breathing.

"Yeah. Gibbs."

"Are you busy?"

She didn't bother introducing herself: she knew that he would recognise her voice.

"Not particularly. Working on my boat. Why?"

"I was bored."

He was silent for a moment and she paced back and forth in her kitchen, wrapping her hair around her finger nervously.

"You were bored, on a Saturday night, and you decided to call _me_? Like hell you were. You're a better liar than that, Shepard. What's going on?"

She said nothing, trying to figure out how to broach the topic.

"I need something to distract me."

"From?"

Jenny rolled her eyes. For such a good investigator, he could be so dense at times.

"Think about it, Gibbs."

"Oh. Um...how can I help?"

"I told you. Distract me."

She could picture him in her mind, standing in the dark of his basement in confusion, and very nearly laughed.

"Can I come by?" she asked finally.

"Um..sure. You remember the way?"

Now she did laugh.

"Gibbs, you live twenty minutes away from me. Give me some credit."

"Fair enough."

"On my way."

She didn't wait for his answer, and she grabbed her purse, pulling her keys and wallet out, figuring that it was for the best if she broke rule nine. Just for tonight.

* * *

Gibbs turned at the telltale sound of her heels on the stairs, and nodded at her when he met her eyes. She gave him a small smile and glanced at the shell of his boat.

"Therapy since Diane left you?"

He scoffed.

"Not likely. Glad to be rid of her, to be honest. She was never here anyway."

Hm...she'd never really asked about his ex-wife before, but she knew their divorce hadn't been pretty. She had only seen the other redhead once, when she'd dropped off her key to his house, which Jenny had found odd, since he never locked his front door.

"She couldn't stand you, either?"

"Hey, you _asked_ to intrude on my Saturday night, Shepard. Speaking of which, what _are_ you doing here?"

Jenny slid onto the stool in front of his work table and looked at him as though he were the dumbest person she'd ever met.

"I told you why."

"No," he shook his head, "you told me a bullshit excuse. What's the real reason?"

She sighed, running her hand through her long hair.

"I wasn't giving you a bullshit excuse," she answered quietly, "I really do need to be distracted. I need to get out of my head."

"Not much for talking, Jen," he pointed out.

He frowned when she didn't snap at him for calling her "Jen", and set his sander down, looking at her seriously.

"You want a beer?"

"Sure."

Reaching over to a small cooler, he pulled out a bottle, handing it to her silently. He watched her as she cracked it open, and when she drained half of it in seconds, he frowned again.

"You want to tell me what's bothering you?"

Staring at the bottle in her hand, Jenny sighed, and tapped her nail on the glass. When she finally spoke, her voice was soft, barely above a whisper.

"I don't know. Some days, I'm perfectly fine, able to laugh, hell I can even handle Burley, but sometimes...I can barely get out of bed in the morning. But I know if I don't, I'll feel like a failure for letting my emotions get the better of me. I feel anxious about feeling anxious. How pathetic is that?"

"Sounds like a bitch."

She nodded, laughing bitterly.

"You may not have noticed, but I'm a bit of a perfectionist."

He snorted into his own beer, and she glared at him even as she smiled.

"You? A perfectionist? Never."

"Shut up, Gibbs."

"I'm talking to a woman who rewrote the same damn report five times because she didn't like the way her handwriting was slightly uneven."

"It has to be professional, you ass."

He shrugged, taking a drink of his beer.

"Whatever you say, Shepard."

She finished her drink and he handed her another one before she even knew what had happened.

"Thanks. Anyway, I just...Gibbs, sometimes I'll just be sitting at my desk and it'll hit me that I'm going to die. That one day, I will cease to exist. And I have no control over that. I don't know what's going to happen after that, and I can't stop it from happening. And everyone I know is going to die. That I'm someday going to be completely alone, one way or another."

"Jesus, Jenny. No wonder you're so stressed. Who sits and freaks out about death all the time?"

"I don't think about it all the time. But it does happen a lot. And...it scares me."

He nodded, knowing what she meant, and he noticed that her hands were fidgeting with the bottle they held, a sure sign that she was nervous.

"And tonight?" he asked softly, "What happened tonight?"

She shrugged, tipping her beer back and draining it so fast that he nearly did a double-take. Without hesitation, he offered her another and she smirked.

"Trying to get me drunk, Gibbs? How cliché."

"You're the one drinking them like the world is going to run out."

She nodded, and took the bottle in his outstretched hand. He'd never admit it, but he was secretly hoping to get her a bit drunk, but contrary to belief, it had nothing to do with sex. He'd learned that Jenny was more open when she'd had a bit of alcohol, and that would greatly help his situation now. It didn't escape his notice that she'd deflected his question, and he tapped her knee lightly.

"You never answered me."

"Right. Tonight...I don't know. I feel like I'm never going to be able to stop trying to prove myself on your team. Like the guys don't take me seriously because I'm a woman."

"That's crazy. You're a damn good agent. You make mistakes, but everyone does. You're doing fine, and Decker respects the hell out of you. Pretty scared of you, too. Burley...he's immature, but he's good at what he does. He loves you like a sister. They both do."

"What about you?"

Shit. He had no idea how to answer her. There was no way in hell that he could tell her that he was attracted to her, and that he wanted to protect her at all costs.

"If I didn't think you were cut out for the job, you wouldn't still be here. You're good at what you do. A pain in my ass sometimes, but nothing could be worse than Burley."

There. That didn't sound too bad. At any rate, it was better than telling her that all he really wanted to do was throw her up against the shell of his boat and kiss her until she forgot her own name, that he wanted to hear her whisper his name as he held her in his arms, that he wanted to know what her mouth tasted like, that he wanted—wait. Focus, Gibbs. Back to the topic at hand.

"You're not just saying that to keep me from running to Morrow with a sex discrimination charge, are you?"

He shook his head, taking a final drink of his beer, reaching over to open another.

"Nah. I don't believe in false praise."

"Good to know."

He knew, in the back of his mind, that she hadn't given him the entire explanation and he raised his eyebrow at her.

"That all?"

She took a slow drink, and sighed, glancing at him sadly.

"No. I really wanted to...you know, but I couldn't."

"Not that I'm complaining, but what stopped you?"

"I wouldn't have been able to stop."

He frowned, looking at her seriously.

"Jenny...you don't mean that."

She nodded.

"That's just it. I do. I know that if I had made that first cut, I wouldn't have stopped until it was too late. I've never felt this way before, and it...it scared me. Even the littlest thing is causing me to do it, things that never bothered me before, and I don't know what to do."

He met her eyes and wished he could hug her. He didn't want to overstep his boundaries however, and he ran his hand through his hair, noticing for the first time that it was shaking.

"It's gotten that bad?" he asked finally.

Silently, Jenny pulled up the sleeve of her shirt, exposing the myriad of cuts, some scabbed and healed, some fresher, and Gibbs set his drink down slowly, reaching out to touch her skin. He kept his touch gentle, not wanting to accidentally hurt her, and he looked at them closely.

"Christ, Jen..." he swore softly, "Why didn't you say something?"

"What was I supposed to say, Jethro?" her voice held a note of defeat that he wasn't used to hearing, "I did this to myself. I don't deserve your sympathy or your help. I have no right to complain."

He noticed that she'd used his first name, something she very rarely did, and he met her eyes, holding her gaze steadily.

"That's what you think? We all need help sometimes. It's rule 28. When you need help, ask. Getting help isn't contingent on whether or not you created the situation."

Shaking her head, Jenny looked away from him, unable to handle the emotions in his eyes, and she reached for her drink with her free hand. It didn't escape her notice that he hadn't stopped touching her arm, and she frowned.

"What?" he asked.

"You...you're not bothered by it. Touching them, I mean. No one has ever touched the scars without flinching or looking disgusted before. Not even me."

He shrugged.

"Scars are a just a part of your history. They don't define you. They show that you've struggled in the past, but you were strong enough to fight back and win."

Without even realising it, Gibbs had moved closer to her, and she was finding it difficult to breathe. There was no denying that she was attracted to him, and the scent of coffee, bourbon, and sawdust was strangely intriguing to her, making her want to be as close to him as possible.

"You're not weak if you need help. You're not pathetic, and you deserve to be happy."

She refused to look at him, choosing to focus instead on the feeling of his fingers on her skin.

"Jen?"

Glancing up at him, she raised her eyebrow in question.

"Do you want to stop?"

Hm...this was something she hadn't considered. She didn't actually want to die, except when she thought about life too deeply, but she didn't think she could bring herself to stop.

"It isn't that simple," she said finally, "I don't know how to be anything else. I don't know what it's like to not be sick anymore."

Gibbs frowned.

"You're not sick. You just don't have the best coping mechanisms. You can find others."

Jenny nodded, finally pulling her arm free from his hand.

"Maybe. I'll think about it."

"While you're thinking, think about this: I would much rather listen to you tell me what's bothering you than to get a phone call at 3am telling me that you're dead."

Nodding again, she picked up her beer, draining the last of the alcohol from the bottle, and this time when he offered her another, she shook her head.

"I really shouldn't."

She didn't add that the reason she shouldn't was because she'd come dangerously close to kissing him as he'd leaned closer to her, and she gave him a sad smile.

"Can I ask you something, Shepard?"

"Sure. But if it's something too personal, I reserve the right to not answer."

"Favourite colour?"

"Oh, see, now you've gone too far. My trust in you has been destroyed."

He laughed and she nodded at him seriously.

"Go ahead."

"I've called you "Jen" more than once tonight, and you haven't yelled at me at all. Usually you jump down my throat. How come?"

The only thing she wanted down his throat was her tongue at the moment, and she had to look away from his piercing blue eyes before she accidentally told him as much. She shrugged as she took a deep breath, and smiled.

"It's kind of growing on me," she admitted, "You should feel special. No one in the world calls me "Jen"."

He laughed.

"Could always start calling you "Red" if you want."

She groaned, shaking her head.

"Then I might consider murdering you as well as Burley."

Even as she said it, she knew it was a lie. There was no way in hell that she could ever confuse Gibbs with Burley. He laughed again, and moved closer to her, setting a beer down in front of her.

"Gibbs, I have to drive home," she reminded him.

He shrugged.  
"I have a spare room. Or you can stay until it's out of your system."

Jenny picked it up, twisting off the top and taking a long drink, smirking as she set it back down. There was something she'd been dying to ask him for the better part of a week and a half, and she'd had just enough alcohol for her to feel brave enough to ask.

"Why are you doing this?"

"Hm?"

"Offering to help me. Practically mainlining alcohol into my bloodstream. Being so nice."

He frowned.

"I can be nice," he said, pretending to be offended.

She laughed, patting his shoulder gently.

"Of course you can," she said, her tone patronising, "But you know what I mean."

Gibbs nodded, still as close to her as he'd been when he'd given her the beer.

"You're my partner, Jen. I don't want you to get hurt."

Jenny stared at him, obviously not satisfied with the answer, and he continued.

"You're my friend, and I just want you to be safe. I don't like it when you're upset."

He leaned forward, his lips brushing against hers in the barest hint of a kiss, and when he pulled away, Jenny's eyes locked on his.

"I shouldn't have done that," he said quietly.

"It's okay."

"No, it isn't. I crossed a line. You're drunk, upset, and I took advantage of the situation by—"

"Jethro!" her voice was loud, cutting him off exasperatedly, "it's okay."

She brought her lips to his in a soft kiss, and she smiled as she hopped down from the stool.

"I think I should call it a night. I'll call a taxi and come back for my car later."

She walked towards the stairs, tossing him a look over her shoulder as she walked up to the middle of the steps.

"For the record, I'm not drunk. Maybe a little buzzed, but not drunk."

He couldn't stop himself from staring after her in stunned silence as she walked to the upper floor. Her voice was soft as she called for a taxi, and it took all of his restraint to keep from running after her and demanding that she stay the night. He picked up his drink, emptying it quickly, and it wasn't until she had already gone that a new horrifying thought occurred to him: what in the world was he going to say to her the next morning? Had he completely destroyed their friendship, or was she just as confused as he was?

Frowning as his phone rang, Gibbs sighed, putting it to his ear tiredly.

"Yeah. Gibbs."

"I just wanted to thank you."

"Jen?"

"Who else would it be?" she laughed, "Unless you've had another woman in your house since I've been gone."

"Very funny."

He didn't even realise that he was automatically referring to her by the nickname she'd once hated, and her warm laughter floated down the line.

"Seriously...thank you. You have no idea how much that meant to me."

"Anytime."

"Well, I'll let you go. Good night, Jethro."

"Night."

He hung up, feeling more confused than ever. It seemed he hadn't ruined their friendship, but now he had no idea how he was supposed to keep from kissing her the next time he saw her. He couldn't pretend that he hadn't noticed the jolt that had passed through him as he'd touched her skin, even more so when they'd kissed, and he groaned, letting his head fall onto the table. Why...why in God's name did she have to be a redhead?

* * *

**A/N: In answer to your review of "Brave Enough", Esquinzo, yes, it does sometimes take an emotional toll. For this piece in particular, I used a lot of what I've been going through recently to describe Jenny's emotional state, and digging into it can sometimes make it worse. It's all good, though.**


End file.
